Irresponsible Islanders
by MezzeVerita
Summary: AU. Arthur goes to Australia to pursue his dream of being a nature specialist and ruins the life of someone whom he may or may not have loved. Also, America can't navigate worth hamburger grease. FrUK, EngSey, USUK
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This fic was inspired by my friend (nerdymoosechild on DeviantArt) when she came over to my house last Sunday. Well, actually, just the ending and a few other things. It was too hilarious to pass up! So I'm writing this mainly for the ending; it may get crazy and/or stupid, but I hope I can make this believable up to a point. You'll start to see what I'm talking about as the story goes along, and there will be some wacky elements near the end. I don't own Hetalia; it belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya._

_A/N 2: Parc et Roseraie du Ch__âteau de Rambures is a park in Paris, and it does have a rose garden and a castle for which it was named for. The château (castle) was built during the 1300s. As for the landscaping, some trees were brought in from the United States in the late 1700s. I googled this, I hope I didn't get anything wrong._

_A/N 3: If Dylan were a nation (region) in this story, he would be Wales. Jack, Arthur's cousin, would be Australia. Updates on Sundays._

_Summary: AU. Arthur leaves England for Australia to pursue his dream of being a "nature specialist". He meets someone who could replace the current "love of his live". (S)he's better off without him. Way, way better off. Also, America can't navigate worth hamburger grease. FrUK, EngSey, USUK_

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><p>They had been lying in the grass so long it had actually started to itch. No one would believe there were such things as ants or any insects (except maybe butterflies) in the so-called French paradise of Parc et Roseraie*. Yet Arthur found one crawling on his leg. He moved the hand from his forehead he was using as a sunshade to brush it off. He squinted his eyes at the warm light.<p>

When he felt his boyfriend shift at his side, Francis took the opportunity and wrapped his fingers around the other's.

"I was using that," Arthur said dreamily. "Stupid bugs."

The ant continued to roam around on the Brit's pant leg, feeling around with its antennae and looking utterly clueless. Despite this, it managed to hang on when Arthur jiggled his leg in an attempt to knock it off. He finally just used the soft back of Francis's hand to wipe it off.

The extravagant blond opened his eyes and, snapping out of his relaxed daze, realized what his boyfriend was doing. Not that something like that wasn't expected, though.

"Arthur! Come on, only you would do something like that. You have your own hand, don't you?"

Besides the flowers, pretty landscaping and the occasional American* tree, Francis wasn't much of a nature person. He liked spending time in the gardens, but that was as far as his love for the wild outdoors went. Bugs? No, thank you!

"Yes, I _do_ have my own hand, now that you mention it, so why are you holding it?" As he said this, he still didn't let go of the hand. He almost knew the reply that Francis was going to give. Something about "love".

Francis sat up, leaving a Frenchman-shaped patch of squashed grass below him.

"Because it is romantic," he stated simply.

Yep, he knew it. Romance was pretty much the same thing as love. But he agreed.

"Comforting," was a word that came to mind and somehow escaped from his lips.

Francis placed a kiss on his cheek and moved before the Englishman bolted upright and nearly hit him in the head. He had a feeling he probably would have liked to; he probably wasn't meant to hear that last word. Francis had learned the hard way that just because Arthur was blushing didn't mean he was pacified.

"What? It is something that normal couples do," Francis reasoned. He shrugged his shoulders and brought his hand up innocently.

The wind had whisked a wispy cloud over the sun, diminishing the brightness of its rays barely enough to make it bearable for a Londoner. Wafted along with the cloud was the sweet smell of the roses that surrounded the two on either side of the path. It made Arthur lightheaded after sitting up so fast and he couldn't give the Frenchman the glare he wanted to. In his mixed-up mind he wasn't sure if his boyfriend was referring to the handholding or the kiss.

Well, normal couples didn't usually include lovesick wine-bastards.

"You know what else normal couples do? They sit on benches, like that one over there." He pointed. "I'm sure they don't lay on the hard ground together and-whatever we were doing. My arse hurts."

It took all of Francis's self-control not to make a perverted remark at the moment and deepen the red in Arthur's cheeks, but he had promised him he would try to be more "decent", if that would make him happy. Oh, there were a million things running through his mind right now just from that statement.

"But, _mon cher_, we came here to see the roses, did we not?" He slowly stood up, then pulled Arthur along with him. Here it was hard not to see the roses, as they now towered above them and could see them spiraling out in every direction.

Most of the roses near them were red, but England spotted a white section maybe ten meters off to his right. It wasn't very big, but there were patches of other colors like this scattered here and there.

The atmosphere of the afternoon instilled a sort of calm in all of the Parc's visitors, and just a little of its glow was starting to brush off on Arthur. Feeling like nothing could go wrong, he decided to be daring.

"I have to disagree with you again," he smirked.

"Yes, yes, of course you do." He waved it off.

"I-I came here for-for you." With that he spun Francis around and smacked a kiss on his lips.

He felt pleasantly smothered-was it a bad thing? To be smothered by love? He felt wanted-_needed_ as Francis released his hand to wind it in his short hair. His tongue prodded at his lips, but Arthur pulled away. Extra blood rushing to his lips wasn't necessary; he realized he had been nervously chewing on them ever since he arrived to the date at the gardens.

It seemed he still wasn't at ease in Paris, although he had been visiting almost every weekend.

Francis's however were plump and soft, and he wanted to feel them against his own again.

It was a mutual desire, for Arthur was pulled closer and only a moment later realized he could no longer feel Francis's warm breath on his lips. Instead he could feel a warm tongue on his teeth, which he managed not to bite (hard). When Francis was this close, Arthur could inhale and taste at the same time the safe, luxurious aura of lavender and lilies that belonged to him. This feeling was all that was connecting him to the world at that point because his tightly closed eyes robbed him of all sight and direction. The still-coherent part of his brain knew he couldn't stare into the Frenchman's piercing blue eyes now without melting, so closing his eyes was probably the wisest choice. He just held on tighter to Francis's shirt.

The former's lips slipped away and whispered into the kiss, "I believe there are rooms up at the castle."

After another soft bite with his lips, Francis led Arthur towards the castle that loomed behind him.

But Arthur's inner bumblebee/workaholic nature picked this time to take over. It made him glance at his watch (discreetly; he didn't want to seem rude).

"There's no way I could stay the night," he said.

He continued walking, however, through the little wire archway with flowers wrapped around it as if he were still in a fairytale.

"Why not?" Francis's voice sounded cheery, but his eyebrows furrowed and he looked down at the ground.

"Well, remember how I told you that the semester's almost over in college?"

"Oui."

"My professor insisted that I take a break since I've been studying so hard." He stood up straighter and there was a smile on his face, despite what was about to be said. "He wanted me to "go into the field", and get some experience."

At first only the first part sunk in.

"Doesn't he know you've been coming here almost every chance you get?"

"Why would he? I don't advertise it. You know how everyone is. 'Oh! Oh! Dylan, my lovely brother! Free ticket for the ferry to France! Right here! In this left pocket I'll probably forget to zip up because I'm doing so many other things!' He'd steal my pass before I could blink, and the rest of my family would find some way to stop me from doing what I wanted. Why would I tell a teacher something I haven't even told my family?"

They turned a corner on the path through the gardens, sidestepping a girl who was stalking a yellow butterfly.

"True, it must be hard to stop pickpockets when you have such a nice derrière."

Arthur gritted his teeth at this remark, but knew he could do nothing about it.

"How did you not turn out like him? I mean, you go to a good school and probably haven't stolen or cheated once in your life. Your brother-well, the first time

I saw him he was sticking gum under his chair."

"It gets worse. He's always taking my stuff: books, laptop, golf cap, everything. If he learned of my vacations, he would raid my apartment!"

"Does he know about us?"

"Huh?"

"Us."

The more romantic of the two plucked a rose, pink this time, caring about neither the thorns when they pricked his fingers, nor the weak plastic sign feebly saying, "Do Not Pick Flowers". He held it out to Arthur to illustrate what he was talking about. When he didn't take it, he tucked it into the Englishman's hair above his ear.

"N-no, but I don't know about his love life either!"

"What about his sex life?"

"Again, no." He shuddered.

"Thankfully yours is about to improve. Castle?"

Arthur, unfortunately, knew he wasn't kidding. Normally he would have immediately said no, then changed his mind the second or third time. This time he couldn't, no matter how tempting it was. The chattering and whistling of pesky birds filled the silence. The other wouldn't be happy, but Arthur figured he should say it anyway.

"...I-"

Before he could finish, a hysterical Francis cut him off.

"You are not breaking up with moi?"

Arthur slowed to a stop.

"No! I'm going to visit my cousin!" Francis looked relieved, but the birds

stopped chirping, emphasizing what Arthur said next. "And...he's Australian. So he...naturally lives in... Australia."

"Oh." Francis's face fell again. Arthur was upset, too, since his boyfriend was

more open with his emotions. Seeing someone looking like they had been slapped in the face could make anyone feel guilty.

"Only for a few months!" he amended. More like six. "Australia is famous for it's outback wilderness."

"And kangaroos," Francis said, trying to improve the mood.

"Yeah," Arthur laughed nervously. "I thought that, since I'm studying to become a nature and wildlife specialist, that I might as well get some hands-on experience and well, Jack invited me and I thought I'd never get a better opportunity to explore the outback."

He didn't meet Francis's eyes.

"Oh, hey, look! We're almost to the end of the roses!" Arthur conspicuously changed the subject and started to run to the end of the walk.

"Don't run yet, _mon ami_." Francis put a had on his shoulder and pulled him back. He gave Arthur a look that told him he knew he wasn't finished. Arthur

sighed.

"So I won't be able see you for a while," he admitted. He finally got the courage to meet Francis's sad blue eyes again. "And I'm- I'm leaving Monday."

Another cloud passed in front of the sun. At least Arthur didn't have to fear any rain here when that happened, like he did back in England. But the rain would have been sort of fitting for a last meeting between friends.

This time, Francis started walking out of he roses toward the green lawn. Arthur followed, and was worried at first when Francis didn't turn around. Arthur jogged to catch up, but didn't say anything more when he did. Instead he just watched how the thin, flowing fabric of the man's blouse (yes, he would always call it that, even to Francis's face) clung to his body when he walked, his hair such a wonderful contrast to the blue; in color, not texture, for it looked really soft and made him want to run his hands through it again. His footsteps were light on he grass, again a tribute to his gracefulness. How could he have chosen to leave his behind? At he very least, he could see why he waited until the last minute.

Both of them walked with their hands in their pockets, one out of hurt and one out of guilt.

It became clear that Francis was headed toward one of the benches Arthur had mentioned earlier under the shade of a big tree. Pretty soon Arthur had no idea why he'd suggested it, it was hard and flat, and he could feel the ridges of the seat underneath him.

"Why didn't you mention this earlier?" Okay, it's true, Jack had asked months ago.

"I did."

"No, you didn't." Damn it, the bastard always paid him too much attention! Listening attentively!

"I-I knew I wouldn't ever be able to leave if I told you before! I knew you wouldn't have stopped me, but I wouldn't be able to bear it." He hated how his voice softened at the end of his sentence, and how he could feel his eyes moisten. "I figured if I waited until now, I'd have no choice but to go. The tickets have already been bought (lie), and half of my things are packed. I can't stay tonight because I have to finish preparing. You know I can't stay safe in Paris my entire life."

"Arthur-"

"_Nothing_ ever goes wrong! All around you you see flowers and pretty women, people smiling and friendly! Look over there! A castle, another giant big fortress to protect and stifle everyone inside! I can't stay!"

Francis's mouth formed an "O".

He had always known Arthur had an adventurous spirit, and he had never meant to hold him back. It's just-love did that sometimes. He wrapped his arms around the Brit and held him like that. Arthur's first thought was that at least now the bench was more comfortable.

"I was going to say that I was happy for you, that you would finally get the opportunity to go somewhere and do what you've always loved. I just wish you would have told me sooner, so I wouldn't have to go through the shock of this two days before you left. _Je t'aime_, you know?"

How could he not? His face heated up, it was so embarrassing.

"S-Shut up you stupid Frog!" He almost shoved Francis's arms off him but thought better of it.

The latter laughed. Not the creepy "honhonhon" that almost everyone in France did, but a normal, lighthearted laugh. It still sounded French, though.

"That was one time, Arthur. I was only sampling _cuisses de grenouille_ because the waitress wouldn't leave me alone."

"Did they taste good?"

"You were right there, but you passed up the opportunity to try such a wonderful dish." Well, there was nothing wrong with asking. "_C'était magnifique._" Arthur rolled the things under those monstrous eyebrows.

"Really Arthur? At least I'm not anti-British! Although I don't know why not because their cooking is awful-but I will admit, I can't make scones perfectly. Yet."

Arthur rested his head on Francis's shoulder.

"You made scones?"

"Why not?"

"_Why?_ "

"Just because."

The two sat on the bench for a couple moments longer, knowing it would be their last day together for quite some time. There was more kissing and hugging. But as far as Francis knew, long-distance relationships never lasted.

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><p>Translations:<p>

oui: yes

derrière: behind

mon cher: my dear

cuisses de grenouille: frog legs (thighs)

C'etait magnifique: It was magnificent.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: I tried to use real places in London for this, forgive me if it's all wrong. I used Google._

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><p>Toothbrush, pens, deodorant, journals, envelopes, boots, camera-they did have stores in Australia, he knew, it wasn't all savanna and outback. So he unpacked the envelopes and also the extra film from his camera and put them on the floor of his apartment. His mobile he would keep on him, it had Francis's number, and Jack's, in case he needed to call him for anything last-minute.<p>

And thank God they spoke English there! He only had a beginner's knowledge of French, so communicating with anyone these past weekends had been hell.

At least Arthur had most of his clothes packed: T-shirts, cargo shorts, jacket, hat; the rest he planned to buy. His passport was safely folded in his wallet, as was confirmed many times by his constant rifling through it. Also his backpack, which would come in handy for holding water and other stuff like that and was currently sitting on his lap.

He scraped his feet along the floor and used them to turn the office chair he was sitting in back to the computer. The laptop was fairly new and surprisingly efficient, and was scheduled to be bagged up and carted off to Australia once a certain Englishman had ordered his ticket.

"Okay," he muttered to himself. "Travel. Dot. Heathrow airport..." he continued as he typed in the URL. Arthur had visited the site before, so he pretty much knew where everything was located. Scrolling down further on he page he clicked on "Book Flight." The search box popped up.

_Departure (city):_

"Well that's easy, London..."

_Arrival:_

"A...u...s..." he keyed in. "What now?" He rubbed his eyes and looked around, annoyed; some rattling noise had interrupted him.

His eyes fell on an ample-sized metal cage on another table against the wall. With a few carrot stubs scattered around, of course. Shite, he had forgotten to feed Spearmint! The poor bunny must have been starving all day! He dragged himself out of the padded chair and went into the kitchen. Normally he would have just grabbed the jar of food pellets he kept on the shelf, but he thought his pet deserved to have real food in the days before his owner left and he was moved to some stranger's house. (Well, strange for her. Arthur had babysat Peter when he was a boy and had watched him grow up. The sailor's son was kind and responsible, for the most part.)

Opening the fridge he pulled out a head of lettuce and a knife he found on the water filter. He used it to help pry off a few crisp leaves and then he put the vegetable back in the bottom drawer. It wasn't wise to wonder why there was silverware in the fridge, but let it be said that Arthur's kitchen wasn't the most organized room in the house. He stored the knife in a random drawer.

The cold air that assaulted him from the fridge until he closed the door made Arthur glad he had kept his wool sweater on. He took the food over to the cage and poked it through the bars. Spearmint nibbled on the lettuce to her heart's content while hungrily eyeing the carrot pieces outside the bars. A while ago Arthur had placed some carrots in her cage, which she had dutifully hoarded in the corner of her little bunny-shelter. This was where Spearmint retreated to now as she lost interest in the leafy green to chew on her carrots. Being the greedy little fluffball she was, she dragged the lettuce with her anyway. Apart from the food, what else was she hiding in there? Arthur pulled a neon post-it note from his desk and jotted down a note reminding him to clean that freaking cage.

As an afterthought he put the cage on the carpet and unhooked the latch in case Spearmint was feeling adventurous. It was only fair, as he was about to embark on his own trip. He wiped his hands on his pants to get rid of the dew from the lettuce, and returned to the computer to type in the rest of the name of the country he was going to be visiting. It didn't take long at all for the page to load and he quickly found out that the only flight on Monday was to Innsbruck. Hold on, wait, that was in-Austria.

Oops. He backspaced and retyped his search entry, carefully spelling out the "tralia" part of the word. He didn't really have any particular desire to land in Austria.

Good, there were about three different flights to Sydney. Jack had said he lived in Canberra, though. He would have to call him to come pick him up after he landed. Maybe they'd swim while they were there. He booked the cheapest flight, a bit worried about the 700-or-so pounds it was going to cost him, and logged off feeling allayed, excited, and slightly unsure all at the same time.

Turning around he saw that Spearmint had ventured out of her cage and was now contentedly hopping around on the floor. Her footfalls (pawfalls) were barely audible, and eventually she stopped in the middle of the room and looked around. She was well-trained, and Arthur knew she would never soil the carpet. He would miss her. He crouched down and stroked her shiny gray fur.

"Are you going to miss his place?" he asked. No reply came, because Spearmint couldn't talk. She wasn't _magic_ or anything, but she made good company. "I'm not sure I am, the city gets really crowded and I can't always concentrate. I'll miss going to see Francis every week, though." Arthur sighed, and the rabbit twitched her nose.

"Maybe I could convince Peter to buy a rabbit so you can know what it feels like to fall in love." She hopped a bit more. "But I guess we should probably go now, huh?"

Arthur gathered the soft bundle up in his arms and carried it back to its cage. It crossed his mind that bunnies might get nostalgic, too, and he was tempted to hold her up and give her a last tour of the house and let her say "goodbye" to each room. But that would be weird, and she couldn't, so he didn't.

With the cage in tow and his bag strapped over his shoulder, he shut the lights off and exited the apartment. Arthur nervously jangled the keys in his hand and wondered if he had even made the bed in all his haste! He nearly went back in to check, but decided against it at the last minute and locked the door instead. The fairies could do it—or at least-he wished they would. Or at least housekeepers, which were sort of like fairies but could be male or female. The building Arthur lived in used to have housekeepers until a year ago, when keeping them became too expensive. Speaking of, he still had yet to pay this month's rent. He also had yet to see a male fairy, and he hoped those existed. Why not, right?

Arthur wouldn't be taking the trolley that day. He wouldn't miss it, and he was happy that he could pass it up and save himself the money by walking to Peter's house. That's why he had babysat for him after all, because of the close proximity. His walk was more like a stroll; he didn't mind slowing down because he had the whole day left and just a few more things to take care of. Like this. The strolling pace was also good as it didn't jostle the cage. It was a little unusual for him to be carrying it outside, but he did put the cover over it.

"Hmmm... He'd be trading in paved streets for dirt soon... how would that feel?" he asked himself. Still, he didn't let his gaze freely wander to all the many attractions like a tourist. Today he didn't even notice he London Eye, the spokes blending into the sky after years of living there. He passed the wide expanse of Primrose Hill. The park was really lively today. Some of the chatter was even audible from where he was passing by on the sidewalk.

Grateful for the short distance, Arthur approached the familiar set of apartments that his friend resided in.

Chalcot Crescent was a really nice area, a little lane with a bunch of picturesque white flats with styled windows and balconies. Peter seemed to be okay with that and was as cheerful as ever. His face lit up when his older friend arrived at his doorstep.

"Hello there!" Peter was hoping that by adding the "there" it would seem as if he were addressing a young child, but Arthur was five years older than he was. Peter was frustrated because he knew that he would never let him forget it. Arthur pulled the hat he was wearing down over his eyes.

"Gmmmph- hey!" The boy quickly turned it around so the ends of the blue ribbon on it were hanging in the back again. Arthur smiled; Peter was fun to rile up.

"What was that for?"

"Oh, it was just an impulse."

"So now you're an _impulsive_ jerk. I see."

"Is your dad back yet?" Arthur asked. He wasn't sure it was healthy for a growing boy to be left alone like this.

"Can't you worry about me for once? Instead of that-that sea biscuit jerk who always has to take off?" An expression of annoyance appeared on Peter's face. Arthur matched it, not being too happy with being left out in the semi-warmth of the mild afternoon. Couldn't the boy just be a gentleman and let him in? He didn't say this, of course.

"Um, okay, how are you, without the, uhhh, sea biscuit?"

"Oh I'm good, thank you." Peter then decided it was time to move away from the door and let his visitor in, who had to turn sideways because a certain bunny cage wouldn't fit into a certain narrow doorway. Oooh. Spearmint wouldn't be happy about that. She would probably make sure to clack her teeth even more loudly on her water bottle when Peter did his homework or something else important like that.

"He told me eight weeks, by the way, but it's never exact. Ha!" he laughed spitefully. "It must be boring as hell out on the ocean! Flat, boring, makes you wish you were home with your precious little boy, buying him cake." Peter smiled to himself in a leather armchair, imagining what that would be like. "He's in some place called Sealand, can you believe it?"

"What's that?"

"Uhh-" Peter took a second to remember-"I- _think_ it's some fort off the coast of somewhere...you're older, shouldn't you know?"

Arthur took his loafers off and set them near the door, next to Peter's almost unused ones. There was a scuffmark on he toe of one of them, but the rest was clean. Looking over, he could see the bottoms of Peter's feet were as dirty as a Frenchman's mind. But he let it go. It looked like the boy was getting on all right, after all. Arthur ignored the question that he probably should have known the answer to and continued.

"So if your dad's gone," Peter made a face that said, "Here we go again," "how are you living? Surviving, I mean. Like eating, and getting to school?"

Arthur set the cage down on the floor. Peter crawled over to it excitedly, peeking under the purple sheet covering it.

"Well most of the time, I stay at Raivis's. Technically I'm too old for a 'babysitter', so this is a step up."

"Come on, I wasn't _that bad_. Who's Raivis?"

"He's a boy I met at the park. Do you know him? He's slightly taller than me." For some reason this last fact was relevant.

"If I knew him I wouldn't have asked," Arthur stated.

"Right...well, I have a question! Can I see the rabbit now?" Impatiently he pulled off the sheet and peered in. Spearmint was hiding under her shelter in the midst of the scattered bedding that littered the floor of the cage. Peter's wide blue eyes probably would have scared her if she had come out, anyway.

"I would say you could probably coax her out with a carrot, but I just fed her."

"It's okay, I don't have any. Raivis does, though. I'm in his kitchen a lot."

"Just open the cage and move the shelter. You can hold her, if you want. She has to get used to you."

Peter followed his advice and managed to fit his small hand inside the cage to move stuff around. Spearmint jumped into his arms easily enough. A second later

he exclaimed when the rabbit bit him.

"I told you, she has to get used to you," Arthur said. Peter sure wasn't used to her.

For the next half-hour, Arthur explained how to care for a bunny and all the particulars of his pet. Clean the cage once a week, feed her twice a day, always refill the water when it runs out, don't let her outside the apartment unless she had to be taken to a friend's house that he was staying at, no dress-up, etc. In the end, Peter had taken the bunny back to his bedroom. He was secretly glad that he would have someone around to keep him company 24/7, but he didn't tell Arthur because he didn't think grown-ups ever got lonely.

Arthur milled around aimlessly in the living room waiting for him to come back. He noticed two rows of pictures hanging on the wall above a potted plant. One on the end contained him and Peter, standing on the beach. That was-three years ago? He couldn't remember.

"So..." Peter popped into the room again.

"So..." There was a pause as neither one of them was sure what to do.

"I guess I should be on my w-"

"Want to play checkers?" The boy asked.

"What? No, sorry, I ca-"

"Don't be a jerk, come on, I won't see you for a while. One game!"

As it turns out, the checkerboard was stored in the cabinet below the television on the wall across from the chair, so it was pretty handy. Peter had it laid out on the glass table before Arthur could squeeze in another word, so they had ended up playing. Each of them was determined to win (Arthur a bit subconsciously), despite the fact that it was just a stupid game.

Arthur went first because Peter said that he could use the advantage. As pieces the colors of Sealand's flag leaped over each other, he managed to learn more about Peter's life in the past few months. For example, he had met Raivis and his family in early March when he had gone to the park out of boredom. Some "jerk" had knocked him over with his bicycle and he had scraped his knee. Raivis had tried to stand up to the guy for him, but he stuttered too much and the effect was lost on the cyclist who had already ridden out of earshot. It was the thought that counted, though, and they became friends. Raivis' mom even bought the boys ice cream cones (waffle, the best kind). They lived together now, and Peter kept this place in the Crescent out of convenience. It was still his dad's, but he was 15 now! He had only come back because Arthur had called to drop off Spearmint.

Peter was way too happy when his red chip reached the other side of the board.

"King me!" he shouted. Arthur swore he could have heard an echo. This was the third one in a row! He reluctantly placed another chip on Peter's piece.

In a few turns the game was over, the victory gone to the younger. He would boast of this for days, and he told Arthur to be expecting a call from him in Australia doing just that. His jerk father could pay for the phone bill.

* * *

><p>Arthur turned in at his own place around eight that night feeling worn out and wishing he had earmuffs. His ears were sensitive now that he had nearly escaped being chatted to death by a hyper teenager. What a day. Well, he figured he might as well look out at his city one more time. He threw the blanket off, walked over to the window, and pulled back the curtains.<p>

He didn't have a spectacular view from his small apartment, so he imagined the rest, falling asleep thinking of museums and castles and crashing to the floor.

His sleep was disturbed in the wee hours of the morning by his alarm (When did he set that? Instinctive organizational skills and sleep did not mix). In the middle of the dark room, all Arthur wanted to do was go back to sleep. The Brit hadn't gotten a full night's rest yet, so he felt sluggish and just wanted to curl up in the sheets again. That was when he realized he wasn't even in the sheets, and he was starting to get chills from lying on the floor by a vent.

The bed headed sandy-blond groped around in the dark for a few seconds and tried his best to follow the sound of what he slowly recognized as ringing, not the sound of his alarm. His hand met the cool plastic of his cell phone under his pillow. Flipping it open, Arthur still couldn't see the time because instead of the home screen, the name of the caller was clearly displayed. Against his better judgment he answered it and tried to make it sound like he hadn't just crawled out of a dungeon, which was how worn out he felt.

"Yes?"

"Hello, cher."

"Oh, hey, um, what time is it?" He thought it must almost be time for him to go to the airport, but after looking out the window he knew it couldn't be because the sky was pitch-black.

"Here? Or there?"

"Don't use that excuse. We're in the same sodding time zone! England's not that far away, and you know it!"

"Alright, it's nearly midnight." Arthur yawned into his pillow. Francis's silky voice made him want to sleep. He wasn't going to lie, so he told him such. His boyfriend smiled on the other end of the line.

"Can you make this quick? I can't imagine anyone who would _voluntarily_ be awake at this hour except for partygoers and drunks. And criminals."

"Well it's really quiet and calm over here. After waking up in the middle of the night I couldn't get back to sleep. I called you because I thought maybe we could talk and we could get some things off our minds. Do you have anything that's bugging you?" Leave it to Francis to innocently point out Arthur's uneasiness about going on this trip. Other than that, he didn't have anything on his mind. Talking couldn't hurt, though.

"Ten minutes, then I have to get back to bed. Really."

"Okay." He yawned, too. "This reminds me of that one time we slept together." Arthur felt his face heat up, wondering why his room couldn't have done the same thing. The air conditioning always came on by itself, and it was really annoying. He was just about to ask how when Francis continued: "We were far apart then just like we are now. I still can't believe you scooted to the edge of the bed then! You took all the sheets, too." He tried not to snicker too loudly. "Arthur you don't have to blush, we didn't even do anything that night." They had been close, though, and Francis regretted holding back. He wondered if Arthur did, too.

"Hehe, we never got a chance to fix that."

"No, we didn't," Francis wistfully sighed.

"I'm not having much fun here right now if it makes you feel any better, Frog. I had to drop off Spearmint with a friend today, and the rest was just methodical packing."

"This is a depressing conversation…"

"I'm tired."

"If you wanted it to be less depressing you at least say 'I am now ready to rest so I can be refreshed for the next morning' or something like that."

"But I am tired, and my flight's at six. I don't think you got as beautiful as you are by losing sleep every night, so leave me alone! Please?" Francis knew Arthur had a point, as much as he didn't want to admit it.

"Bonne nuit. Sleep tight, too, although it doesn't rhyme."

"'Night, Francis."


	3. Chapter 3

Meanwhile, somewhere Down Under...

Jack had no idea how he did it, but he had managed to wake the two of his visitors up early and convince them to go for a hike before it got too hot. Alfred had pulled his pillow over his head and only agreed to get up if breakfast was ready, so Jack had cooked some and still ended up having to drag him out of bed. Michelle was an early riser, awake before the Aussie had knocked on her door, but she had been in a dreamy mood and staring out the window across the flat land. She had said she was looking for animals, as they sometimes came around the house.

Jack coaxed both of them out onto the porch (Alfred only pulled up a chair to "let his food go down"), and then he had gotten them ready to explore.

* * *

><p>"Whoa, dude! This is like going to another planet! It could be Mars, with all this red soil and shit! And look! Some funky trees!" Speaking of Mars, that guy created the best candy ever, in Alfred's opinion."Hey, Jack, you got any M&amp;M's?"<p>

Alfred loved Australia. He was amazed that a place existed outside of America that still had fast food and other modern wonders. His host always kept them on hand, and he drank at least two bottles of soda a day! That was a hard record to maintain when he was hiking in a new area every day. It made him thirsty like no other.

"No worries, mate, I put a bag in my backpack before we left."

"Sweet!"

The Australian put down his pack so he could get them out. He didn't have much in there because this time he and his two visitors were only going a couple klicks away from his house. They would go back and pick up his cousin later.

"Do ya want any, miss?" Jack asked Michelle. He wasn't sure if chocolate was her thing or not.

"Mmmmm..." Alfred said, already chewing on some. He held the bag out to Michelle when she nodded, the top sloppily ripped open.

The pigtailed girl peered inside and let her hand hover over it, trying to decide which color would taste the best. She had only had these once in her life, if she remembered correctly.

"They all taste the same, Shelly, it's just chocolate." Jack laughed.

"Mmph." Alfred's mouth was still half- full. "No they don't. Blue always tastes the best, no matter what it's on. It's a distinctly heroic color, which makes it great for food!"

Michelle picked out a green one and a brown one, saving the blue ones for her friend. Like Jack said, they didn't taste any different. Kind of sticky, though.

"Eeew, the ones in the bottom are all melted," the American complained.

"That's alright, chokkie's chokkie!"

"It's really good, _mersi_!"

"See what you're missing out on? You should totally come to the US of A," Alfred said, taking credit for Jack's candy. He felt extra heroic today, with a hat, backpack of supplies, and hiking boots instead of tennis shoes. Michelle and Jack were dressed similarly, except the clothes hung a bit loosely on Michelle. She had the sleeves of her shirt rolled up to her elbows. Everyone's shirt was sticking to his or her back, despite the fact that it was still morning. They had managed to find a little shade under a monkey bread tree, but it wasn't much because there weren't many leaves on it. Jack leaned against the thick trunk.

"I don't know, I've heard there are lots of cities there. Noisy, crowded cities with huge skyscrapers. I don't think I'd be comfortable there," Michelle lamented.

"B-but that's where it's happenin' yo! There are practically no animals except for pigeons and dogs, and the air is filled with car exhaust!" The island girl made a face. The Australian outback was practically silent right now, without any bird calls or other animal noises. She could get used to that; the only thing that could make it better was the sound of the waves. Still, it sounded way better than America.

"If you want her to visit, ya gotta tell 'er the _good_ things about your country." He turned to Michelle. "It's go' a really long coastline, which means lots o' beaches! You don't have to go to any cities."

"But that's part of our kick-ass culture!" Alfred protested. He elongated the tear in the bag so he could reach the squishy M&M's at the bottom.

"I'm not knockin' it, I'm just sayin', I didn't get you guys to come to the Lucky Country by tellin' you everything bad abou' it, did I? And I won't start now."

So far, Michelle couldn't see anything bad about coming to the outback. It was full of surprises. She sat down on the dusty ground near a scrubby bush to get a closer look at it.

"What's this called?" She asked.

"If I remember correctly, it's called _acacia dealbata_."

Michelle pinched one of the yellow flowers between her fingers. _These plants are impressive, _she thought to herself. _They need a lot less water than I do! _Her throat was starting to get dry even though she hadn't been in a very talkative mood that morning or sleeping with her mouth open like the men of the house. She had been able to hear Alfred's and Jack's snores all through the night!

Reaching into Jack's backpack she pulled out a clear, unopened water bottle and chugged about half of it. It felt so refreshing.

"Look, a-an animal! What's it called?" she asked, apologetic. It seemed Jack could be expecting lots of questions of this nature on their hikes. There would be lots of hikes, too; he had assured them of that.

Alfred, on the other hand, was puzzled. He wasn't familiar with this gray, furry, long-nosed creature Michelle was pointing to. It could even be dangerous. So he reached in his backpack for his stealthy binoculars, and observed from a distance. He could have sworn he had seen this creature before.

"That's an anteater. You can get closer if you like, but not too close. They can be dangerous. Just watch the creek over there," Jack warned.

"Whoa! Haha, okay!" Michelle laughed. The animal was slurping up its food on the other side of the bank, but the girl wanted to get closer. She tiptoed on a couple rocks anchored in the shallow water so as not to get her thick boots wet.

They would have dried fast in the hot sun anyways, but Michelle was generally a careful person. She couldn't get much closer from her point on the rock, and she was about to turn back when she saw some dirt piled up leading across the stream.

The island girl backtracked and planned used this route to cross the water instead. It was so exciting to her to be only a few feet away from an animal in the wild, free and living its daily life. The anteater was so unlike humans that she was overwhelmed by curiosity and wanted to know more about it. Besides, there were some trees across the stream, and anyone would be happier under those leafy umbrellas.

From Alfred's point of view, Michelle was a little too close to the anteater. Nature was a force to be reckoned with in the American's mind, and that was why most people in the U.S. stayed inside and enjoyed their air-conditioning so much. He didn't care much for chivalry, but he still hoped she didn't slip on the rocks.

The blue-eyed adult left his comfortable place at the tree to go check on Michelle. He thought that part of being a hero was not letting unnecessary accidents happen. Alfred sloshed through the water with his boots, stirring up the sediment at the bottom and not giving a pink sheep about how dirty his shoes got. Looking up at the creature again that was peacefully eating his food, he still got freaked out.

In all the comics he had read, pretty girls never got hurt.

"Be careful..." he warned and gently grabbed Michelle's elbow to make sure she kept her balance and to make sure she didn't get too close.

She jumped, not expecting someone to be behind her. Alfred teetered on the rock they were standing on when Michelle spun into him. He tried to catch her, but his hands flailed and she slipped off the rock into the shallow creek. She landed on her rear in a big _splash_!

At first the girl thought she had bruised her back when she hit it on the rock, but then her attention was drawn to the mild scrapes on her hands. She couldn't be mad, though, as she hadn't been pushed or anything.

"Alfred, don't sneak up on me like that!" It was her own stupid fault, and she knew it.

"Yeah, you gotta be aware of those things! You should be fine; you can clean up when we get back to the house... and don't be embarrassed or anything like that. After all, I've tripped and fallen plenty of times!"

Alfred's loud voice alerted the anteater to their presence and it gradually backed off as Michelle wrung out her hair like a loom spinning sheep wool. She could feel the mud coating her hair and knew it wouldn't come out without much struggle. Rinse after rinse after rinse. To make things worse, the desert sun would dry it almost immediately.

"You know, back at my home I used to go on walks along the beach every day and even climb the occasional tree. So tell me how you, the student who takes college classes online, is virtually spotless while I'm covered in... river mud?"

"It's the glasses. They make me look more sophisticated than I am." Michelle chuckled, as this was probably true.

She began to appreciate the calm current of the small river; if it were any stronger she probably would have been bombarded with more water and wound up even more of a mess. Getting up out of the water was easy, but she also felt the bruise on her back she thought she obtained a few seconds earlier. It was sore as she moved and stretched, but at least it wasn't a sharp pain.

Jack wanted to rest under the tree for a while, having explored much of Australia's nature before, but rushed over to cater to Michelle after her fall.

"You alright?" he asked.

"I'm fine. It's not that bad, thanks." She wondered why that question wasn't asked by he one who caused her to fall in the first place. Her previously tan jacket was dyed dark brown with the water, as well as her shorts and boots.

"Um, what's in this mud? It'll come out, right? It feels really gross."

Michelle couldn't even run her hands through her hair without feeling the cakey mud between her fingers. She frantically tried to squeeze the dirty water out of her clothes.

Jack had a suggestion.

"You could always tuck your hair into your hat if you don't want the sun to dry it."

"Okay." Michelle pushed the ends of her slightly curly hair on top of her head and pulled her hat down a little. Darn, her ribbons were soiled as well. She had packed a few extra ones, but they were back at Jack's house.

"So do we wanna keep going, or what? Honestly, I've seen more animals at the zoo than I have here," Alfred remarked. Unless he counted the flies continuously buzzing around his head. He had to keep swatting them away. That was one long Aussie salute, as Jack would say.

"Be patient, mate, it's still early."

"Are we heading into that forest?"

"We could try, although I don't think we have much longer. I've got to pick up Arthur in a couple hours, and it'll take a good while to walk back."

"I think we should hurry up, then. Alfred, didn't you say you wanted to see that koala Jack's always talking about?"

"What koala? I've been waiting so long I'm starting to believe it doesn't exist," Alfred said.

Michelle took the lead into the thicket of eucalyptus trees growing alongside the river. Quickly, though, as they didn't have much time. The minty smell inside the trees was sweet and almost medicinal. Looking around, the first thing the three of them noticed was the shade, and then how closed in the space was compared to the expanse of red sand behind them. The American looked around expectantly, searching for koalas.

"I can't call it whenever I want. S'not like I've got a whistle or anything. You've got to listen, and sooner or later you'll see one," Jack informed him.

Michelle turned her gaze to the top of a eucalyptus tree, assuming that any sensible bear would be roosting up there, snacking the day away like someone else she knew.

Said person had just finished licking the chocolate off his fingers and crumpled up the yellow bag. He was about to throw it on the ground, when he had second thoughts. There was no litter anywhere in sight, so Alfred didn't feel right making any. Instead he discreetly tucked the candy bag back into Jack's pack.

"And up on your right, lads, you'll see the great Australian koala bear, that you'll now have to admit exists," Jack said.

"Huh?" Michelle shaded her eyes with her hand as she looked up merely out of habit.

"Where?"

"To your right, just follow that trunk up. Among the leaves. Come on, tell me you can see it, it stands out like the dog's balls!" Jack announced.

The gray koala was pretty far up, its little tufts of fur barely visible from the ground. The muddy female explorer rifled through her backpack for some binoculars, and she jumped again when Alfred shouted: "OH MY GOSH it's real!"

Jack lightly punched his shoulder.

"Quit scarin' the animals!"

"Sorry." Michelle really wondered why he apologized for that and not for knocking her over. It was confusing.

She saw the koala wedged between two slender branches and was pleasantly surprised at the quality of the lenses. She could see each fur in detail, and even the pouch!

"Care to look?" She handed the tool over to Alfred. He remained silent while he was looking, then passed them to Jack.

"Before you came here, I got to hold one o' those."

"Are koalas your favorite animals?" Michelle asked. "I like dolphins, but it's hard to hold on to those. They're kind of slippery!"

"Ah think they just might be. And see, Alfred, I told you they existed."

"Yeah, well, when you talk about something as much as you've been talking about koalas, people start to get a bit suspicious." He narrowed his eyes playfully behind his glasses. Alfred had always know koalas were real, but it was fun to tease Jack about it.

"Why would I lie about an animal?" Jack asked.

"Good question. You know another one? What time is it? My stomach's still not completely full."

Jack did an about face and started walking back the way they came.

"The house is a only a couple klicks away, I think you c'n wait."

"So the guy you're picking up- Arthur, right?" Michelle wondered. If she recalled correctly, Jack said he was his cousin.

"Yeah. It'll be a pretty long, possibly rough drive. Just make sure to buckle up."

_Yeah right, like I'll do_ that_,_ Alfred thought to himself.

They forded the creek once more, this time more carefully and with Michelle treating the water as if it were hot lava.

Suddenly a not-so-pleasant thought occurred to the sweet girl. She might not have time to shower when they got back! Her skin was darker than it already was, her hair was a matted mess, and she doubted she even looked like a girl anymore! That was hardly a way to make a first impression! She asked Jack about cleaning up when they arrived, but he said they'd only have time to stop for a few minutes.

The trek back was shorter than the trek out because they rushed along and stopped sightseeing. Complaints, complaints; they all had their own. Alfred tugged at his sleeves, trying to pull them down more.

"It's so hot out here, my skin's starting to burn."

Now that he said it, Jack noticed Alfred's skin really did look a little red. He had lotion at home; he'd have to grab it on the way out.

Alfred, Jack, and Michelle passed many piles of dirt, shrubs, and the occasional lizard on the way back. The sun had risen slightly higher in the sky, but it didn't completely white out the colors of the flat house up ahead.

Everyone let out a small sigh in relief. Alfred and Michelle were sick of tasting dust. No matter how strong each person was, they could feel their legs aching because of the long walk right after they had woken up. Jack didn't buy coffee, and that was the one thing Alfred missed.

The Australian ran in the house to repack his backpack with more snacks. He also grabbed sunglasses and the lotion he had mentally promised Alfred, who had wandered in behind him without him noticing.

"Um, I feel kinda sick..." the American complained. Now that Alfred was out of the sun, he could concentrate better and realized that he didn't feel normal. His skin felt extra sensitive whenever it brushed against something (like his clothes), and he felt a little woozy. Not to the point where he would pass out, but to where it would be good to sit down. The Aussie had been sun burnt before, so he identified it almost immediately and handed the plastic bottle to the American.

"Sunburn?"

"I guess."

"Sorry, mate, I would have offered you sun block this morning, bu' I figured you'd be fine since we weren't gonna be gone long."

Alfred took the bottle gladly and squeezed some cool lotion out on to his hand. Lucky for him only his arms and legs were burned severely. His cheeks and neck, too, but not that badly.

"That's okay, at least I'll be tan now. And for free!" He rubbed it in gingerly, each touch feeling like a rug burn. "O-on second thought, you got any water?"

"Yeah, coming right up! Now uh, you don't think you're gonna do a liquid laugh, do you?"

"What?"

"..."

"I'm not going to-vomit, if that's what you're asking. I'd never voluntarily give up good food. Though I do feel a little sick... can I lie down somewhere?"

Alfred flopped down on the couch in the next room before Jack even had a chance to answer. His hair irritated his neck at this movement, but he ignored it and closed his eyes.

"I've got to go pick up Arthur, but you're welcome to stay here. But we'll be gone for a while. I thought you would like the beach, but I don't think it'd do you much good now."

Alfred heard his host but didn't answer. He simply kept his eyes closed and pulled his hat down on his face as an added barrier. He heard Jack leave soon after, shouting something to Michelle that he only caught half of.

* * *

><p><em>Oh no, there's no <em>way_ I'll have time to clean up!_ Michelle thought. _Uhh-_She looked frantically around the bathroom before finally bending over the tub and switching the faucet on. The cold liquid served to wash some mud out of her hair. The amount of mud she rinsed down the drain was immense, and that wasn't even half of it! It stained the white of the tub. Michelle hoped Jack wouldn't mind. If there was time, she would gladly scrub it out later.

"Shelly? Michelle? You comin'?" Jack called. She tried to dry her hair as best she could, but then ran out; she didn't want to keep anyone waiting. Pretty soon they were in front of the car, a Forester Jack had assured her was sturdier than any giant famous rock in the Outback.

"Can I go get my bathing suit really fast?" Michelle asked.

"Just borrow a pair of my trunks when we get there; you can wash off in the ocean. I kept us out too long, but Arthur's gonna throw a fit if we're late!"

"But-"

"Don't worry, this isn't your only chance to go to the beach."

Michelle didn't even feel like herself without her trademark red ribbons or ponytails. She spotted Jack's bag on the cup holder between the two front seats and figured the least she could do was pull out a towel to sit on. It amazed her how the inside of the car was practically spotless while the outside was painted with dried mud.

When she mentioned this to Arthur's cousin, he assured her only the back seats were like that; there were plenty of times he had sloshed Coca-Cola all over the front seats or muddied the dashboard with his boots. No one was ever in the back because he lived alone, and the car couldn't move if he wasn't driving.

Michelle pulled out the darkest towel she could find so the stains wouldn't show and spread it out on a back seat. She was smoothing out a wrinkle when the cab hit a bump. Well, at least the engine was quiet; she hadn't even heard the car start up or realized Jack had started driving. The jolt knocked her forward and she fell on the seat.

"Do you ever, ah, get used to that? All the bumping and stuff? It sure seems hard to live in— " Jack ran over another pothole "—Australia." Out the rear window she could see the house receding into the background.

"Never known anything but. Though one time I saw a critter in front of the car and leaned over the wheel to make sure I didn't run it over or anything."

_This is a big car_, Michelle thought to herself. Her slight body slid around under the seatbelt, and she couldn't see a thing over the dashboard from where she was sitting.

"So naturally I ran over a bump and hit my nose on the windshield," the man continued. Jack rubbed the Band-Aid over his nose, wincing at the light pressure.

"You didn't hit the animal, did you?"

"Thanks for worrying, lassie!" he said sarcastically. "I could have broken my nose! No, I think it was only a snake," he laughed.

The one with the nickname of something lying on a shore at the beach felt a little guilty and picked at her nails and the stubborn brown stuff still stuck on there.

"Are you okay?" She didn't want it to seem like she didn't care about him, she hadn't meant it that way at all! It's just that animals tended to be cuter than people. Certain people, not that English accents or similar ones couldn't be cute, or the people speaking them—

With a lighthearted laugh Jack told her to calm down.

"No drama, I know you're in a tizzy from all that frantic racing around the house. We'll be at the airport in no time and have fun along the way."

Deep breath. Michelle relaxed against the fabric of the seat and tried to accept her situation. It wasn't comfortable, but on the upside it would make a good story if she ever changed her point of view and wanted to tell it.

Time did fly by, as it turns out. In addition to being the perfect tour guide on a closed-in, dust-free _Australian_ safari, Jack managed to have a joke for everything or just a humorous casual remark. Michelle also expanded her vocabulary in regards to what she thought of as strange Aussie slang. Her mood improved, and she was doubled over laughing when Jack finally parked the car.

The expansive airport wasn't as colorful as Jack's personality, though. It was painted in shades of gray like most industrial buildings. All the windows, wide parking lots, and space between the short buildings made it feel airy and free, which was fitting for a landing place for flying machines. Modern cooling systems in the building made both of them realize just how hot and sweaty they had spent the last couple of hours. Michelle felt like she could breathe again on the other side of the automatic doors.

"Where are we supposed to meet him?" she asked after she had recovered.

"Oh! Thanks for remindin' me. I brough' along a map of the airport in my backpack, from the previous times I've been here."

He turned around to find Michelle already reading it, her hands a good few feet away from each other as she tried to stretch it out and make sense of it all. To her it just looked like a bunch of gray squares, darker gray squares, a patch of blue, and some arrows dotted in among some other icons. She could understand where the gates were for the most part, and she had also figured out where they were standing at the moment. But she let her eyes wander to look for their possible rendezvous point and lost their initial location.

"If we're not too late Arthur could be at the baggage claim, which is here," Jack laid his finger on a suitcase icon somewhere near another entrance.

"This way?" Michelle tried to walk in the right direction with her head still turned down at the map.

"That seems right, yes. Um, I think it'd save a lo' o' time if I just called the pommy. This place is so big we'd never find him otherwise."

His kept his phone in his back pocket, which made for easy access when he wasn't sitting on it. He flipped it open and called Arthur on speed dial, listening to the phone ring while they continued walking. Michelle continued trying to decipher the map. The Aussie had to keep his hands on her shoulders and occasionally steer her away from the other people rushing about.

* * *

><p>The various businessmen in suits, tourists in floral shirts that probably belonged in Hawaii if they wanted a less rugged vacation, and children holding on their mothers arms somehow managed to steer clear of Jack's cousin. They were probably warded off by the strong atmosphere of tense impatience radiating from the Englishman casually sitting on his suitcase and tapping his foot. Arthur stood up when he heard his phone ring, fumbling with it at first. "Hello?" he answered.<p>

"'llo again! 's Jack, I hope we're not too late." It took Arthur a few seconds to recall his frustration, but he would never forget a thing like that.

"You-you wanker! I've been waiting here for almost an hour! After I've been on a plane! For hours!" the so-called gentleman lowered his voice after he got a few unfriendly looks. "If it had been me picking you up at my airport, I would be on time. Be assured, if you ever come to my country I will make sure to keep you wa—"

On the other side of the line, Jack rolled his eyes and made a "look at this- can you believe this?"—gesture to Michelle, who could hear most of Arthur's rant. To her, he didn't seem like a very pleasant person.

"Okay, I hope you're not too ropeable Artie, what happened to all that jetlag? You're supposed to be tired! Me and a few friends were out on a hike this morning, and, well, yeah."

"If I had a car I would run over your precious kangaroos! Can't you be responsible for once? What if I didn't have any money with me? What if I—I don't know, wanted to eat?"

"Seriously, you cou' 'ave just slept."

Arthur deadpanned and glared at the wall in front of him while he contemplated hanging up. It was sad that his cousin was his only way around this country. After a short pause in which he managed to convince himself that he shouldn't have expected anything less from Jack and that he should probably stop yelling so he wasn't stranded at the airport, he pressed the phone to his ear again.

"You never know what _foreign people_ will do to you while you're sleeping, Jack. I know _you'd_ do something," Arthur accused.

"If you sleep with your mouth open, you're inviting something to happen. I brought some sangers if you really are hungry, so you can shove those in your mouth and stop your ranting. But until then, I still don't know where you are."

Michelle wasn't sure where she was, either. She lowered the map and looked around with wide eyes. How did people find their way around with all these different doors?

"Can I come find you? My legs are so stiff…"

"Sure, mate! We're at the visitor's entrance."

"Hell if I know where that is…" Arthur muttered after hanging up.

The two parties found each other about fifteen minutes later, everyone looking worn out in their own way or just downright guilty for leaving their cousin waiting. A small smile stole its way onto Arthur's face once he caught sight of Jack and the person with him, though he was still annoyed. Now, at least, he could smack Jack in person.

The people he was meeting weakly greeted him. Michelle tried to seem upbeat, but she didn't know what to expect after the conversation she had overheard.

"Hi, I'm Michelle." She smiled.

The girl was worried she stood out dreadfully in the clean environment. She hated looking like she just rolled through a pigsty. Arthur didn't know what to think himself, so he quickly introduced himself and expressed his need to get out of the airport as soon as possible. He was surprised when Jack actually complied.

"Hey, mate. You know we're planning to go to the beach after this, right?"

Arthur just groaned.

"Give me a sandwich. You were right about that jetlag…"

* * *

><p>Alfred woke up much clearer-headed than when he first slipped into sleep. He didn't even realize he'd drifted off! His skin was still raw, but the usually energetic hero didn't want to fall back asleep. He assumed Jack had already left, as the one-story house was silent.<p>

Well, he could play some video games or something to pass the time, he supposed.

Or, if he was too lazy and sore to do that, he could get on the conveniently placed computer on the desk right across from him. Yes, that seemed like a good idea. Flash games were okay, too, and Alfred thought he was a beast at them all.

He got impatient waiting for the computer to start up, and when the desktop popped up he clicked so many times on the Internet icon it looked like he was trying to kill it.

Furthermore, when it finally popped up after Alfred's clicker-assault, some seemingly irrelevant news popped up. Alfred didn't care about world affair; never had, never would. Not even if sharks were featured in the front-page story, and they were pretty cool animals! Not even, he told himself. But the man with the glasses got curious and clicked on the link anyway.

The article read:

_Sharks Stir Up Trouble in Sea of Okhotsk_

_Three sharks, first sighted near Sakhalin, Russia, are now a major threat. Six people were killed on the beach this past Saturday, while enjoying their vacation away from the frigid Siberian snow. All of them were Russian, but this will still probably discourage tourists to this area. It will be roped off until these sharks are caught by the Humane Marine Safety Division (HMSD). _

"_I had no idea swimming could be so dangerous," says one (now) widow whose husband was killed. (Name withheld) wishes to ask that anyone who finds a white scarf in the ocean around this area gets contacts her immediately, so she can have a token to remember him by._

_A sad father who lost his little girl also requests that if anyone finds his daughter's bow floating anywhere to contact him as his daughter's body was not found. He is still reeling from the shock and is currently recovering in a hospital._

_Officials advise sunbathers to "avoid the beaches and use their front lawns for now," as the migration patterns of these sharks are not known. In a few weeks, they may even reach the coast of Japan, make their way into the North Pacific Ocean, or end up even further south._

_Experts have not yet identified their species, but scientists are currently performing research and will release the results of their findings in mid-October. Rumor says that one shark has an odd deformity right below the gills and in front of the pectoral fin. They may be described as "breasts."_

_Normally sharks would not be so near the shore but—_

The college student stopped reading at this point, because the black and white text on the screen was really boring him. So Alfred just typed "games" into the search bar and came up with about a million different options. He preferred shooting games because they reminded him of his town back home. Back in the U.S., he could go outside and shoot cans in his field whenever he wanted.

Which reminded him, why didn't Jack have a gun anywhere in his house? If he did, he didn't mention it, Alfred would feel safer if he found one. The American had been through practically all the cabinets in the house looking for food, and had seen no weapons of any sort.

Alfred thought that maybe, if he found a gun store somewhere close, he, Jack, and Michelle could hike to it together and have a picnic on the way there. It would be a great way for him to exercise his leadership skills! He really did want to plan some kind of expedition with his friends once he was feeling better, so he decided to search for a store on the Internet right after he played his game.

But rocket launchers were more interesting than guns, even if they were just virtual. He put off his searching to play a game where he could shoot those instead. Alfred had picked up a new pair of cushy headphones at the last gas station he visited, and they completely covered his ears. Every time he wore them, the sound barrier of the headphones would make him unintentionally zone out. But this way he could zone _in_ on his game better and ignore the stinging of his arms and stupid articles about sharks. Bliss.

* * *

><p>Translations:<p>

chokkie: chocolate

mersi(Seychelles Creole): thank you

Lucky Country: Australia

Aussie salute: swatting away flies

klicks: kilometers

No drama: no worries

pommy: an English person

ropeable: very angry

sanger: sandwich


	4. Chapter 4

Michelle splashed around lazily in the water, wondering why it was that even jellyfish were more welcoming than Jack's cousin. She had been the first one out of the car after they drove the five minutes to the coastline, thinking maybe some of the sunbathers at the beach would be friendlier and less judgmental.

Arthur had barely said a word to her. He kept shooting glances in her direction when he thought she wasn't looking, but he never... said anything. This left Michelle to wonder what was going on in his mind, and if it was about her, was it good or bad?

First impressions usually counted the most, but it was possible to change someone's opinion afterward, right? The best way Michelle could see to do that was to offer uneasy smiles that weren't returned. She felt like a third wheel, and she wanted to roll away before the situation became more awkward. Arthur could just hide under his eyebrows for all she cared; she could ignore him too.

A cloud of dirt muddied the water around the girl as she rubbed the mud off of her legs. It was _finally_ loosening, and Michelle felt like her skin could breathe again. Scooting up closer towards the shore she lay back in the sand and let the water wash out her hair. Michelle would have felt completely clean were it not for her clothes, which were once again soaked. She remembered that Jack had said that he would lend her his swim trunks, so she got up and returned to the car.

Inside was Arthur with a towel over his head, trying to pretend he wasn't there.

"Close the door, Michael." he groaned.

Said person paused, not sure if she heard him right.

"Michael? You're really out of it. Do you want me to leave you alone? Or-"

"Yes." The drowsy Briton cut in.

The dark-skinned girl lightly flicked him in the head. She cocked her head slightly, staring at Arthur's tired face. When he removed the cover, Michelle could see him for the first time up close. He really did look tired with his golden hair dull, his lips parted slightly, and his scruffy eyebrows reminding her of Jack's. But they would always do that.

The weary traveler opened his eyes when he felt Michelle's breath on his face and was about to push her away when she interrupted.

"Gosh I'm glad I came here instead of England. You're so unfriendly. Do you hate me?"

The close proximity and sudden light momentarily confused Arthur.

"What? Who are you?" he asked.

"A girl, for one thing." Another uneasy smile flitted across the girl's face. "It just seems like you're-avoiding me."

"Okay, back up."

Personal space was something she clearly didn't value at the time. When Michelle pulled back Arthur realized that he could no longer smell the fresh, salty fragrance of the seawater she had brought in with her.

"Ummm... my name's Michelle, not Michael," she confessed.

"I could have sworn I heard Michael..."

Michelle's cheery attitude resurfaced after realizing it was just an honest mistake and that he had nothing against her. The island girl thought that she had done something wrong at first because Arthur had basically ignored her when she introduced herself. She had to tell herself this or else that lonely, desperate feeling of trying too hard to belong would well up in her chest and it would ruin her day at the beach.

After playfully flicking water in Arthur's face, Michelle managed to drag Arthur out of the car and out onto the hot sand. It was a while before she could be sure that he wasn't going to pull out an umbrella and towel and start reading a book; he had threatened to do that as soon as he left the vehicle, but they eventually got to that point after Michelle mentioned throwing the poor piece of literature into the sea (which she would never do, but the Englishman didn't know that). She made a quick dash to Jack's car so she could throw on his swim trunks, because at least they were made to be soaking wet. Upon returning she found Arthur sitting down, picking at his clothes.

"Looking for things to complain about?" Michelle accused.

"No, I've found them: the sand sticks to my feet, it's too sunny, and wait-why aren't you in a bathing suit?" Arthur listed.

Michelle wasn't sure if that last thing was on the list or not, but she opted to ignore it.

"Because I didn't have time to grab one. If I had stopped to grab one you would have been really mad-er, madder."

The blond realized she was right.

"If you want I could buy you one at one of the shops here," he offered. Now that he was outside in the fresh air and less grumpy, Arthur forgot why he ever mistook Michelle for a boy. Her big eyes and wet, shoulder-length hair made her look more feminine than anything.

"Well you could if you want, but that doesn't mean I'll wear it for you. Even though I'm refusing your offer, you'd better still be nice to me because after this little _après-midi au bord de la mer_, I'm the only girl you'll be seeing for at least a few weeks."

"You speak French?" The Brit was a little surprised.

"Well, yeah, I used to be fluent, but now I have nobody to practice with, and it sort of fades away."

"I have a friend who speaks French back where I live..."

"Do you speak it, too? I've only heard people speak English here." Arthur doubted anyone in Australia spoke his kind of English the _right_ kind, and he mentioned this to Michelle.

"You can understand me, and that's good enough," she said. "Why don't we walk along the beach or go swimming, so we can understand each other better?"

Arthur left behind a path in the sand where he dragged his feet the first few steps, but he eventually walked at a faster pace and caught up with the person in front of him.

* * *

><p>Peter paced across the floor in front of Raivis. It was just the two of them alone in Peter's house, and Raivis felt relatively safe with him. The blue paint of the walls put him at ease, and so did the other soft colors of the room. No dark corners were there for anything to jump out of, thank goodness. Content, Peter's guest idly swung his legs back and forth under the table.<p>

"So I have this theory. A _grand_ theory that puts all other theories in the world to shame!" Peter started. He paused for effect, but it only confused the Latvian. Raivis wasn't sure if he was meant to say something in that pause or not. A sweat broke out on his forehead.

"That's c-"

"Arthur practices magic!"

"Peter, I think you should be a little quieter," Raivis suggested, "Can't the neighbors hear us through the walls? And w-w-who's A-Arthur?" Meeting or even hearing about new people usually made him nervous. There was no way to tell what they would be like: anything from overly nice to Russian-level scary.

"He's an old friend. He has big, fuzzy eyebrows and he gave me this bunny," he said, gesturing to Spearmint who was casually gnawing on a carrot. He shoved their previous game of checkers out of the way.

"Isn't m-magic d-dangerous, though?" Raivis glanced shakily around the room, expecting something to pop out from somewhere or for the air to start glittering around his face. Even fairies scared him; he had heard the small creatures could pull nasty pranks.

"Oh goody! So you believe me, then? About the existence of magic, I mean."

"Sadly, yes."

"You don't need proof, then? I prepared lots of proof because supporting details surely make my theory stronger! With proof, it _squashes_ all the less important theories!" the more outspoken boy said with renewed vigor.

Over the table were spread photos all containing a younger version of Peter and a blond Englishman with green eyes. Mixed in with those were thick collections of fairytales with fancy designs. Raivis picked up a few of the old photographs, wondering why they had been selected. There was nothing unusual about them that he could see.

Peter informed him that the various books all held stories that Arthur had read to him as a child, all having to do with fantasy creatures or magic. He would read them with such passion one could not help but believe him, and Peter attributed this to the fact that his babysitter believed in the creatures in them himself.

"See this picture here?" the sailor's son referred to the one of Arthur and him smiling in the ice cream shop. "Look at his eyes."

"What about them?"

"Arthur once told me that in the Dark Ages, if you had green eyes people thought

you were a witch. Or a wizard, in his case. Then he winked at me."

"But how does this prove he practices magic?"

"I can just feel it!"

"O-okay..."

Raivis propped open a book on his lap, which randomly opened to the beginning of one of the fairy tales inside. It had a prince and a princess in it, and the prince saved the princess from a death alone in a tall stone tower. Peter had heard it before many times, but he listened when his friend started reading it aloud. They had time, after all; Raivis was staying the night. The boy's stutter lessened when he began reading, and during the middle of the story it vanished completely.

Impatient Peter had to ruin the moment.

"That brings me to the next part of my plan." Raivis stopped reading immediately, curious as to what Peter had to say.

"Like the prince in the story, since Arthur...won't be back for a while, I wanted to... break into his house."

Peter stopped pacing the floor and sat down next to his friend, thinking maybe this would make him less nervous and more likely to agree. The couch creaked, and the Latvian shifted uneasily.

"Why?"

"Not to steal anything, I just wonder what kind of... magic stuff he's got in there. It'll be loads of fun!"

"Actually, I don't kn-know if I-I'm, um, mentally ready for that today," Raivis truthfully responded.

"That's all right, we can do it some other time! Oh, can you remind me in a few days? I'd hate to forget!"

The boy in the cap smiled. Raivis shrugged in his red jacket and gave a timid smile back. He could do that, but he wasn't sure if he would. To be extra sure he wouldn't forget, Peter ran to the kitchen and wrote his plan on the whiteboard hanging on the wall in red marker. He sniffed it before putting the cap back on, even though he knew he wasn't supposed to.

Peter got a little ink on his fingers, but he didn't care. He wiped them on his pants as he skipped back into his living room.

Until nighttime, the two boys had fun reading the books scattered on the table and laughing at pictures of Arthur that were taken when he wasn't ready, Peter when he was cross-eyed, and Arthur again when the red-eye was so bad it made him look like a demon instead of an angel. And pulling out random food Peter had stuck between the pages as a child. Some of it would have been tasty at some point if it hadn't been burnt beyond recognition, and the other half was just vegetables. Peter detested broccoli, and Raivis couldn't agree with him more.

* * *

><p>Back on the beach, Michelle stared through the water ahead of her trying to see if she could spot any fish. She had no luck, but the ocean just lapped at her feet as if it didn't care. Arthur stood back a little ways still in his clothes, still not caring to get wet.<p>

"Before you came here, Jack told me a little about you." Arthur looked up. "He said you were studying to become a monster hunter."

"What? No! Not a monster hunter, a _nature specialist_!" The Briton expected no less from his cousin, fumbling words and ruining their meaning altogether. "That bugger! Where is he, anyway? He still owes me a sandwich."

His fists clenched and unclenched by his sides before he shoved them angrily in his pockets.

"Calm down!" Michelle commanded. Arthur was starting to freak her out. So far, he was the most-high strung person she'd ever met. And he came from an island, like her, where everything was supposed to be calm and tranquil.

"Jack's on those courts over there, _having a good time_ playing volleyball with teenagers that I'm sure have less mood swings than you! Calm down," she repeated.

Michelle pulled him down towards the water, thinking talking might be easier if they sat down. Swimming was what she really wanted to do, but it got boring after a while if one did it alone.

Eventually Arthur's breathing slowed down, and he did feel calmer despite the sand that was going to be stuck in his shorts later. The wet sand almost felt good, but it got under his nails. Michelle's too, but she liked the feeling. Glancing down she found a small shell next to her hand, picked it up, and ran her thumb over the ridges. Before putting it away she showed it to Arthur, who turned the rough creation over in his hand.

"I barely even know you," he sighed.

"But you will! I hope... Alfred (he's the other person I'm staying with) is always telling me to 'branch out and make new friends'."

This is how the Brit usually made friends; he would sit and sulk somewhere, wanting to be alone, but then some brave, over-talkative soul would approach him and try to make conversation. His cousin was one of those people, and Arthur assumed many of the Australians playing on the beach were, too.

He felt discouraged when he looked over his shoulder and saw just how many people were actually in the same place and regretted not reading his book again. Eventually he realized Michelle was not the worst person he could have been hanging out with.

"Oh. Thanks for... branching out, then."

_So maybe he doesn't hate me_, Michelle thought.

"Forget branching out, I'd rather swim out and then go play volleyball! Is that okay?"

"Well I'm not in my bathing trunks-"

"Half of you is already wet, please come swimming?"

It didn't seem like Arthur was going to do anything, so the cheery girl started unbuttoning his shirt.

"I said I barely know you! And you're taking off my shirt!"

"Better start, _non_?" Michelle giggled. "Just get in the water? Look, what explorer is afraid of taking his shirt off?"

Another difference between jellyfish and Arthur was that jellyfish were always in the water, carelessly floating around. Arthur was currently searching for an excuse to stay dry and scooted back where the water couldn't reach him. And if a jellyfish stung Arthur, he would never go near the Australian coast again, and Michelle would have to swim with Alfred or Jack.

Arthur's eyebrow twitched; Michelle could hardly fail to notice.

"You _really_ remind me of Francis when you do that," he said as he shrugged off his shirt.

"What? And-who?"

"Add 'non' to the end of your sentences. Like Francis, he's my 'friend' who lives in France."

Arthur didn't answer the last part of the question completely, because he wasn't sure how Michelle would react. She might have gotten mad, and, no matter what he told himself, he was having more fun with her than he would have had reading his stuffy old book.

"Sure you don't want me to buy you a bathing suit?"

"Absolutely." Michelle kicked water at him.

* * *

><p><em>Translation:<em>

__après-midi au bord de la mer(French): afternoon by the sea__

_A/N: FF wouldn't let me get to the login screen on Sunday, and I was busy with schoolwork all Monday, sorry._


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: I really think I'm starting to kill myself with all the writing I've been trying to do. I stopped writing for years and took pride in _not _doing it. It's pretty hard to go from writing nothing to over 1,000 words a day. So I'm thinking that I should stop trying to update every Sunday and just write when I feel like it, so the story doesn't end up seeming rushed._

_Thanks for the reviews!_

* * *

><p>Now that the sun had become a personal enemy of his, Alfred realized he would have to be more cautious when he went outside. He blamed his Southern skin and charm, he had got sunburn quite a few times when he was little and working on a farm before he moved to the city. Perhaps it was harsh weather in general that Alfred didn't get along with-it wouldn't always snow in winter, but the dry air always made it hurt to breathe, and when it did snow it made it impossible to play football. The American loved to think otherwise, but even he couldn't trudge ten yards while knee-deep in snow. Plus the snow would probably suffocate anyone who got dog piled on even more, albeit with more cushion. Summer was okay usually because it provided an opportunity to jump in the pool and feel clean, refreshed and buoyant instead of shivering like a person in the shower after the hot water ran out.<p>

But this sunburn thing was the last straw. It was decidedly more difficult to be charming when he was itching all over.

Fortunately, he had time. Granted he didn't know what to do with that time, because studying was boring and his eyes hurt from staring at the computer screen, which was another reason not to study. A book would just hurt his eyes more, what with the small print and low contrast and all.

Boredom did funny things to people, so the young adult just ended up printing out American flags to pass the time. Alfred figured he could use them to decorate his room, or maybe the newcomer's room. Printing out his country's colors took so long Alfred probably could have kept time with the high-pitched grinding noise of the printer. If he looked underneath he could even see a piece of the machine moving across the paper inside, picturing it like a comic artist's hand signing their work. He got to about seven full-page copies of different shots of the flag before he had to replace the ink cartridge and add more paper.

Most of the pictures were of his country's current flag, the one with the candy-cane stripes, navy square and 50 stars. Alfred printed out the old one with only 13 stars, too, just to show he also had respect for his nation when it was little and didn't nearly rule the world.

The blue-eyed student stuck a bag of popcorn in the microwave before trotting off to the guest room with a messy stack of papers and a roll of tape in his hand. Some of the butter from the popcorn had seeped through the bag, but Alfred casually licked it off his fingers and wiped them on his pants.

Normally Alfred would put these flags up in his own room, but he figured he needed to do something nice for Jack's cousin since he couldn't make it to the airport. The only empty bedroom was next to his, so he assumed it would be Arthur's.

When the three of them returned, they would find flags on the walls over the bed, hanging crookedly over the bed, taped to the wall with scotch tape hanging off the sides, and one plastered to the window. Alfred knew he could have done a better job, but he planned to fix it right after he finished his bag of popcorn and put on more lotion. Reaching up to put the papers on the walls had made his skin sting more.

In the adjacent room the raw American flopped down on his bed and winced, staring at the model train set on his dresser. It went around and around, occasionally letting out a whistle. Another steady thing to pass the time.

The rest of Alfred's companions arrived and interrupted Alfred's lazy state of mind sometime in the late afternoon. The train had skipped the track while he was sleeping due to a car that was caught around the bend in the tunnel. It was still chugging sadly as Alfred raced out to greet everyone. He tried to keep his energy up despite the fact that he wasn't feeling well.

Arthur came in last, and Alfred thought he barely looked strong enough to carry his own luggage. The two suitcases he had stacked in his arms were wobbling, and the one on the top was unzipped. Messes he could care less about, but Alfred wouldn't forgive himself if Arthur fell and got hurt.

"I'll take these!" With that the one with glasses scooped both suitcases out of the Englishman's arms. Arthur felt like his spine was slowly decompressing and that he could finally breathe again. Jack dropped his luggage on the couch, and it was so heavy it sunk in a little.

"Where'd you say my room was again?" Arthur inquired.

"Okay! I know where it is, and I'll lead the way," Alfred offered.

A nightshirt fell out of the suitcase and landed in a wrinkled heap on the floor. No one really noticed between the excitement of new people or a completely strange house in a new country.

The shirts, along with other various articles of clothing, continued dropping out of Alfred's arms as he walked to Arthur's room. Alfred usually wasn't a helpful person, but he figured he could ignore his sunburn for now to seem more heroic. Additionally he really wanted to see Arthur's reaction when he saw his new room.

"Hey, Al?" Michelle called but realized he probably couldn't hear her. She knew her friend probably wouldn't come back and pick up after himself, so she followed after them, picking up clothes along the way. Most of them were hers, as Arthur had insisted on being a gentleman and carrying her bag for her.

"Jack, I'll come help with the barbecue right after I get my stuff back, kay?" she laughed.

"That's alright, I'll wait!"

Michelle picked up her pace and threw her pants on her bed before hurrying off to Alfred's room.

"What the..."

Alfred took Arthur's lack of words as a good sign. He clapped him on the back and left him alone to be baffled at his amazing display of patriotism.

Normally the guest room would have an oil painting of a flower, or nice drapes or perhaps a fancy headboard. Arthur really didn't know what it was he had walked into. The flags didn't seem neat enough, so he ended up taking them down. A few left sticky rectangles on the wall, but Arthur figured he'd just buy a painting and stick it over them. Jack knew he was from the UK, not the USA, so what were all these flags doing? It was almost like vandalism! He decided to talk to the boy with the light blond hair and blue eyes as soon as he freshened up.

The smell of cooking pork drifted from the backyard in through an open window and back, and it also brought Alfred with it. He coughed when he got too close to the grill and a gust of wind blue it in his face, so he opted to sit in a metal lawn chair next to Michelle.

Both of them had their eyes glued to the bars on the open black grill in front of them where jack was roasting pork. It was interesting how the orange and blue flames licked at the pink meat, and how the meat blackened around the bars but never burned. The air was fuzzy where the extra heat escaped, but Jack was used to it. Remembering his experience of the morning, Alfred scooted back a good distance.

Alone in the silent house, Arthur also decided to follow the smell of delicious Outback cooking. Before finding the back door he found Michelle's bedroom, a bathroom, and two pantries.

"You're welcome," Alfred said knowingly as soon as he stepped out.

"For what? And-" Arthur got closer, waving all fifteen-or-so copies of the American flag.

"I can't say I get why all of these were in my room."

Jack didn't really know what had happened either, and Michelle's face was blank.

"They match?" Jack suggested.

"No, they don't match, everything in the guest room-besides _these_- is either green or beige!"

"Did you see that Union Jack pillow I picked up for you the other day? Thought ya might like it. That's red and blue." He flipped over a piece of pork and scooted others down with a pair of tongs. Alfred was worried for a second that the grease would sizzle too much and hit one of them, but it fell back down to the ashes at the bottom of the grill.

"Yes, but stars don't go with stripes. It's too much, and the designs clash. So the flags wouldn't go with my pillow."

"_My_ flag's got stars and stripes, and it's been around for 200 years!" The American looked at what Arthur had in his hands. "Awww, why'd you take 'em

down?"

"Well they were all over my room. I have to sleep in there."

One piece was done. Jack pulled it off the grill and put it to the side on a plastic plate on a table of the same material. He just pretended not to notice Alfred creeping closer and closer to it; if he ate one piece before them it couldn't hurt.

In his mind the Aussie was impressed that Alfred had managed to prank Arthur before he had. He hadn't meant it that way, but he was the first to do it. Jack was planning on giving everyone a few days to warm up to the new surroundings by doing anything like that, but he could start now.

"I reckon this food's almost done, Shelly, can you watch it for me?"

When she agreed Jack hid around the corner inside of his house to make a phone call. From there he still had a good view of his backyard, where Alfred tried to eat another piece before it was ready only to have Michelle slap his hand away.

He tore his attention back to the call he was making once the ringing stopped and a gruff voice picked up.

"Hey. So Chuck, you ever shipped animals to Australia before?"

There was some static on the other end of the phone.

"I've shipped every animal imaginable to almost every corner of the earth. What'd you want?"

"Um, what's the scariest critter you have?"

"Most people in your country order kangaroos."

Jack leaned against the corner and shifted when it started cutting into his back.

"Nah, I don't think I'd feel right doing that. Those are my mates! Honestly, what's the scariest thing you've got? I was thinking bats."

They were a little creepy. Jack really hoped to outdo Alfred in the field of pranks, and bats sometimes looked haunting. Before he went outside he retrieved Michelle's ribbons from her room so she'd feel more comfortable. If Mr. Testa's reputation said anything, the bats should arrive in about two weeks.

* * *

><p>Not surprisingly, Jack came back to find Alfred already halfway through his plate of pork strips. The Brit had said if Alfred was ever stuck on an island alone he'd die of starvation due to lack of greasy or messy food within two days rather than thirst in three.<p>

Michelle had some barbecue sauce on her face, and Arthur was folding a napkin for her. Alfred was a lost cause; sauce had somehow gotten on the top of his cheek.

"Hey Jack," Alfred said through a mouthful of meat, "Is there a gun store around here somewhere?"

"Yeah, I think there's one due east of here."

"Why don't you find a-"

"Sweet! You got a map or anything?"

"Alfred, I don't think you can just stroll in there and take a gun," the Englishman pointed out.

"Why not? Dude, I'm gonna pay for it, duh!"

Michelle took the napkin, allowing Arthur to use his hands to emphasize his next point.

"Gun laws are stricter here in Australia than in-er, whatever country you're from."

"You mean America?"

He looked down at the flags in his lap. How could he have forgotten?

"Yeah, America."

Since his bedroom was next to Alfred's, he wasn't sure how he would feel knowing he was sleeping in a strange country one thin wall away from a loaded gun.

Jack got himself a plate and sat on the ground in front o the rest of them. His cousin remained standing, but Michelle offered to go grab more chairs. Jack handed her the ribbons on her way in.

"I'll go too, I saw some chairs in one of the closets on my way out here," Arthur said.

"But wait, finish telling me about the guns!"

The blond stopped halfway to the screen door and looked over his shoulder.

"It's not like I have anything against guns. I wanted to be a policeman once."

"I just want one 'cause they're badass!"

The Englishman made a face and trampled more dry grass catching up to Michelle. Alfred's mood dropped considerably when the Aussie explained to him how gun laws worked. Apparently he needed a "purpose" to own a gun. Wanting one wasn't enough.

He let out his frustration by taking a big chunk of pork in his mouth and chewing like a caveman, some of the meat dropping back into the smear of sauce on his plate. If cowboys carried guns, and bandits carried guns, what would happen if one encountered the other without one besides the shootout-massacre of the century? What would he do if their group was stalked by wild dingoes? It's not like he planned on blowing the brains out of anyone who told him no, that'd be too villainous a thing to do.

But what _was_ he to do, then, to convince them?


End file.
